


if you can't stop the cracks from spreading, break beautifully

by IfNotForWinter (AbigailPeters)



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Mental Instability, POV Second Person, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailPeters/pseuds/IfNotForWinter
Summary: You've always been so good at torturing yourself
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	if you can't stop the cracks from spreading, break beautifully

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [children of ares;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585043) by [thedarklings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarklings/pseuds/thedarklings). 



> I read ch. 15 of thedarklings fic Children of Ares and saw that others were allowed to play in this sandbox, then wrote this bundle of angst. I haven't written anything in about four years and I wish this was longer, but I thought what if V's apparition was a coping method (?) that really backfired and started towards the latter days of her time in Tokyo? Check out COA, it's absolutely fantastic and I can't recommend it enough.

Blood dripped down onto the floor. The sound was comforting; a constant in the echoes of silence that otherwise rang through the room.

  
_Drip, drip, drip_

__  
__ If one paid attention long enough it might be the chords to a song. That sort of detail was lost after however long it’s been, anyways. _(A week? And a half? It really doesn't matter, does it?)_ Blood loss makes you go kind of crazy.

  
_God,_ the boredom. Straining to think of a song that played on the radio a few years ago might be the perfect cure to the mind-numbing boredom of staring at a gray ceiling. Why just _hear_ the blood dripping when you can _listen_ to the blood dripping? The little innocuities of the splatter on the floor; the way it could spread, the way it bounces, how it soaks into the porous stone of the floor.

  
Hyper fixation is a talent.

  
_Drip, drip, drip_

Blood and gold go so well together. Almost as well as blood and snow; the color contrast just feels right, doesn’t it?

  
“The viscosity the blood gains when exposed to the cold is pleasant, yes.” Glancing over, you notice a person standing in the corner, but you just don’t know who it is. Faces lately are melding; John, Kishi, Tarasov. Apparently, it prefers to be people who cause you pain. “However, blood running over gold does sound poetic. But what kind of gold? Gold bars, gold jewelry, gold filigree as it runs down the walls?” The question hung in the air.

  
“Not so talkative once I’m here, huh?” They said, pushing off the wall to loiter at your left. _Who are you who are you who are y-_

  
“Who, me? I’m whoever you want me to be. I can be the one leaving you,” _John._ “the one finding you,” You squinted, trying to figure out who that is, but you don’t know anyone with _quite_ that many tattoos. “the one hurting you,” _Kishi._ “It doesn’t really matter, but I’m sure I’ll hardly ever be pleasant. You’ve always been so good at torturing yourself, haven’t you?” They went back to leaning against the wall, crossing their legs at the ankles, hands in their pockets. They smiled, and stared. Faces morphed in a swirl of smoke as you shifted, eyes squeezing shut against the pull of a stab wound.

  
“I’m never going to love you, V. That’s a sentence that will hurt from anyone’s face and voice, correct?” John’s voice cut through the din of the room. Your head snapped up, and the pain in your neck is nothing compared to the pain in your heart. _Please, stop._

  
“ _I_ am not doing anything. You are the master of your fate, you are the captain of your soul, and all that jazz? I’m merely a figment of your imagination, so there’s nothing I can do for you.” John smiled, but it’s a smile that’s never been on his face before. Too toothy, too… cruel.

  
The silence dragged on.

  
Tarasov walked around for a while, scuffing his feet against the floor and loitering in a way that was not very Tarasov. Iosef made an appearance, the little shit not talking was the only reason you were sure this wasn’t real. Winston, Charon, Tarasov, John, Kishi, Iosef, Charon, Tarasov, Winston, Kishi, John, John, _John_.

  
Seeing faces, John’s face, is almost worse than being alone.

  
“You’ve got to interact with me at some point. I know we’ve been in each other’s company a couple times before but come _on_ I’m not that boring.” This voice was softer, feminine.

  
You looked up, squinting against light that wasn’t there and pain that was all too real. Making out the new face was harder than it should be. You’re in so much pain and you want it to end and why is it so difficult to just _fucking see_ and-

  
You never thought you’d see this face again.

  
“Who am I right now? You must tell me your face is priceless.” She was amused, and that look on a face that was always so pinched with concern when clothes became too small and stomachs growled almost made you smile. _Mom?_

  
“Ooh, is that who I am at the moment? How _wonderful_ , I might just stay like this.” Her face changed, lighting up with a pleased smile that missed her eyes by miles. “You hate her, surely you must. She and your father were such _fools_ , thinking they could steal money from Viggo _fucking_ Tarasov and get away with it. Never thinking of the consequences, or what it would do to their sweet little girl who is just _so_ good at chemistry. Viggo would surely never seek to exploit that talent, hmm? Did they cultivate it, I wonder? Encourage the interest because, oh, selling you to him might gain them favor if not money.” She paused. “They couldn’t protect you, even if they tried too, which they didn’t.”

  
_Liar,_ you hissed.

  
“Oh, but I have proof! Look at where you are sweetheart.” She put her hand on your shoulder and made a sweeping gesture with her other arm. The room was as damp as ever, the tangy scent of iron hanging in the air. “This is the result of your parents’ protection. This pain, this torture is all because of them. Are you sure they even wanted you? Given this track record I’d find it hard to believe they ever loved y-“

  
“STOP,” the shout was the first sound you’d made in days, and your throat didn’t let you forget it. Coughing up this amount of blood should be concerning. There are so many things you wouldn’t give for a glass of water.

  
“Why should I? I’m right and you know it.” She crouched in front of you, cradling your face in her hands and stroking your cheekbone with her thumb. “You asked who I was, yes? At the crux of it, I’m you, my dear. I know every thought in that beautiful little head of yours. If you find something I tell you to be a lie, then you don’t need to convince me, you need to convince yourself.”

  
Her hands shouldn’t be so comforting.

  
“Why- why are you here?” You licked your lips, wetting them with the blood from your mouth.

  
“A wonderful question. Quite philosophical, don’t you think? Actually, psychology probably has more to do with this specific situation than philosophy, but _c’est la vie._ Your subconscious is at the root of it, that much is true. But _why?_ ” She grinned. “Is it a need for comfort, companionship? It can’t be. You have John, don’t you?” Her hand moved to stroke her chin, thinking. “Oh _wait,_ he pushed you away. So that _must_ be it. Are you so in need of intimacy that you need to dream it up the moment you get rejected? Pathetic.” She stood to her full height in front of you.

  
You put your head to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut.

  
“What, no comeback? I thought you had fire, or is that a lie?” She scoffed when you didn’t respond again, then moved her hand to your head. “This place is breaking you, and honestly I’m disappointed.”

You shrunk away from her hand, but she followed, digging her fingers into your hair. She pulled, forcing your head up. You gazed into her cold eyes. _Aren’t they supposed to be warm? Mothers are warm, right?_

  
“Whatever happens now, one thing will remain. No one cares that you’re gone,” Your breath hitched. “No one is coming to get you. Everyone will leave you, _Vipress._ ” She stroked your head for a few moments. It could be comforting, if she didn’t scratch your scalp so harshly.

  
“Everyone will leave you,” she repeated. “But you know this already. However, take heart, darling. You’ve always been so good at being alone.” A cruel smile graced her lips, and she dissolved into smoke. You stared at the door behind where she was. _(Is? Could be?)_ It opened. Light came through, along with Kishi.

  
You couldn’t tell if he was real or not until the third kick.


End file.
